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First of all, I don’t know who gave me this responsibility. It's really not my battle to fight because transforming people’s mindsets is not any person’s job. It is work that only Jesus can do. “Let go and let God” is a real mindset that fixers need to be open to.
I've realized that if people didn't see the need or have the desire to work through their own mishaps, there was nothing I could do to change the outcome of things. It didn’t matter how much I cared and wanted them to step into their so-called greater potential. Progress wouldn't happen until they were ready and willing to do the work.
My Fixer Revelation
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During a therapy session, I was asked whether I liked being “everything” for people close to me, and I said "yes," feeling a bit shameful and questioning why I continued those cycles. Every fixer has their particular reasons, but I think my abandonment issues had a lot to do with it. As a child, I felt that I wanted to be cared for. I wanted to be rescued by my absent biological father and saved from being emotionally neglected by other family members.
I always felt things very deeply. I have a Scorpio Moon sign, and I mention that to signify that I am very comfortable sitting in and working through heavy emotions. It intrigues me a lot, and that’s my big way of fixing people—being their emotional backbone until it’s backfired on me in several close relationships. This is why I’m now choosing to combat this behavior of playing savior and working on being a supporter of people, not their foundations.
Let me introduce you to the fixer lens below, as I dissect this character trait with two therapists who are very well-versed on the subject:
How To Know You're A Fixer
One of the biggest ways to tell if you're a fixer is to see how much you extend yourself in relationships and to whom you stretch yourself. I often extend myself to individuals who associate themselves with avoidant or other anxious attachment styles. I also tend to play the role of fixer to avoidants because they don’t like examining their emotions, and I often like walking them through it. Licensed clinical social worker, Insha Rahman, a relationships and boundaries expert at mental health directory Choosing Therapy, says that fixers tend to feel responsible for other people's emotional stability and happiness, while they themselves are very sensitive and emotionally vulnerable.
If you like to be the giver in a relationship to the point of "saving" or being a "white knight," you're probably a fixer. Someone with a fixer mentality has to fix anything they perceive as hurt, broken, or defective.” I look at myself as an ongoing self-help project. For way too many years, I have applied the same mindset to relationships of any kind—familial, friendly, and romantic.
Licensed mental health counselor Nicole Kleiman-Reck, an expert on relationships and boundaries, mentions another perspective on how to identify whether you're a fixer. “A person can recognize if they are a fixer when they avoid getting to the root of a problem. In relationships, this is often described as being avoidant. If a person is doing all of the work to fix the problems in a relationship, they can pretty much be feeling like they are taking on 100 percent of the responsibility in the relationship. They are not holding their partner accountable for the role he or she is playing and often feel insecure in the relationship. Fixers are often very uncomfortable to see their partner in pain, but it is usually tolerating the discomfort that allows the work to be done for true resolution of problems.”
"Fixers are often very uncomfortable to see their partner in pain, but it is usually tolerating the discomfort that allows the work to be done for true resolution of problems.”
Who would have thought offering your partner space to figure it out for themselves, in their own timing and way, is more beneficial for both parties?
Why You Like Fixing Other People
“Fixers feel the need to fix others because of an underlying need to validate and give meaning to their own lives," adds Rahman. "Many times, fixers are survivors of some kind of past damage such as abandonment or loss of a caregiver. Although their intentions may initially be positive, fixers want to be the one figure everybody looks up to for all the answers.”
Unfortunately, I have felt this as my “calling” to help others in such a capacity, not knowing it was also causing a lot of heartaches as well. I was investing an abundance of self-work that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the other person. Just because I see and often treat myself as a project doesn't mean others should be depicted through that lens. Just think about how hard it is to unlearn and change aspects of yourself.
To think that’s an easy 1-2-3 for others is literally insanity.
The Backfiring Aspects of Being a Fixer
Many people admire fixers because sacrificing themselves at such a capacity can be disguised as deep-rooted love or care for the other person. In reality, it builds an unhealthy attachment instead of a support system with boundaries — which every relationship needs.
Kleiman-Reck states, “Fixing is unhealthy in relationships because it will get in the way of true intimacy. It's a one-sided relationship, and it can either lead to codependency and enabling of the partner to take responsibility for the changes they need to make on an individual level or will be downright exhausting for the fixer, and they will often get into the habit of fixing, even when there is not a problem. Fixing can get in the way of differentiation in a relationship, which is essential since both partners need to be able to express their individual needs. Being able to openly communicate this is essential in a healthy relationship, and fixing is unhealthy because it prevents this growth.”
"Fixing can get in the way of differentiation in a relationship, which is essential since both partners need to be able to express their individual needs. Being able to openly communicate this is essential in a healthy relationship, and fixing is unhealthy because it prevents this growth.”
As someone who has had my fair share of one-sided relationships, when they came to an end, I felt so empty. It was like, 'Wow, I gave so much.' And in the end, it was never enough. It was just in the last few months of therapy, as I unpacked a lot of my patterns in relationships, that I started to see the role I often played. I questioned whether I was playing this role as a trauma response to underlying abandonment issues.
“Being a fixer can be a trauma response to past abandonment issues that stem from an ingrained sense of being damaged," Rahman says. "And abuse damages self-esteem. Often children who were exposed to parental disapproval, rejection, and physical or emotional abuse will end up with a sense of blaming themselves for their parents' abuse. Then in adulthood, that person might project [their] damaged self onto partners whom they see as in need of repair. In other words, by fixing their partner, they are fixing themselves.” And so, the cycle continues.
Unlearning Habits and Implementing Secure Boundaries
Kleiman-Reck says that in helping fixers through their challenges, she empathizes with "the fixing role they have been playing" and she encourages self-compassion since a "fixing mentality usually comes from a place of deep hurt but also has positive intent." She also reinforces that making it to therapy means that a fixer realizes there is a disconnect in the relationship, which is "huge progress." She helps clients to recognize internal conflicts and works with them to "normalize the two parts of themselves" and have a "healthy dialogue" between the part of themselves that wants to evolve and the part of themselves that wants to fix others.
"I would also support their own discomfort during their process of change and reinforce the beauty that is on the other side of a truly healthy relationship. I would teach them how to get curious about their partner's actions by encouraging them to ask questions (and would guide them through healthier questions to ask)."
"The goal of unlearning their fixing qualities will be to better understand why they feel compelled to fix while normalizing the discomfort that comes from growth. Seeking support would be an ongoing focus while they take action with boundary-setting," she adds.
To all my fixers out there, I know your heart. It is pure and always looking to play the role of a warrior. But a sustaining and healthy love needs space for people to figure out their own mishaps. The best you can do is acknowledge whatever issue comes up with compassion and be patient with others during their healing process.
You need to focus on their discernment and being responsible for your part. You can also release the burden off your shoulders if you admit the work that is meant for you to do in the relationship versus work that the other party needs to tend to.
Every loving relationship needs boundaries. Stop enabling work that wasn’t meant for you to do.
Featured image by Getty Images
It wasn't until recently that I had a come-to-Jesus shift of mind on why more than one depiction of any common human experience where the characters are Black in America is not only needed but still vitally necessary – particularly related to Black sexuality. And when I dug a bit deeper, I saw that Harlem specifically did a huge service to the depiction of Black male bisexuality that few other popular series have been able to honestly honor. (And yes, I just typed Jesus in the same paragraph as bisexuality. Hey, Ma!)
'Harlem' as a Catalyst
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Late last year, I stumbled upon an Entertainment Weekly piece about the comparison of Harlem to Run the World and was intrigued by the words of the show's creator, Tracy Oliver: "When there's another Black show, people either reduce it down to the same thing, as if two creators can't have totally different experiences, and points of views, and voices, or they try to pit you against them and make it competitive."
But wait. That didn't quite seal the deal.
Then, about a week ago, I had to edit a piece that was literally about why the two shows should be able to co-exist—a very well-written, logically convincing piece of prose that again, almost, convinced me that I'd prematurely written off what could be a very profound work by another Black creative.
I didn't need another sign. I binged-watched the whole season, in its entirety, in one day.
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What truly stood out for me is that the characters, cinematography, soundtrack, and swag of Harlem really do embody the diversity of what you might find if you'd plopped yourself on 139th and Lenox. Considering the show and any competitor similar to it can be likened to comparing your favorite tell-it-like-it-is cousin and your sassy bestie confidante. They wear the same tapered ode-to-the-'90s haircut and Savage x Fenty lingerie, but each plays a very unique, valuable, and significant role in your life.
Harlem is an authentic nod to the fact that while we know Black women aren't a monolith, neither are their experiences. The perceptions, subcultures, and vibes within our communities can vary from group to group, even if that group is in the same locale or setting. The same definitely applies to the Black identity as it relates to sexuality.
The show offers an empowering representation of Black masculinity and bisexuality that is notable because it turns the usual onscreen stereotypes of women's fear, disgust, and bewilderment about Black men's queer sexualities and experiences on their head.
A Case for Elevating the Sexuality Conversation
It's hilarious and telling when, in episode 6, the actress-friend of the group, Angie (played gloriously by the amazing Shoniqua Shandai), finds out that her castmate, Eric (played by the alluring Jonathan Burke) in the fictional off-Broadway production of Get Out, is not gay but bisexual. They work together. They laugh. They build a friendship. They even scope out "big n**ga" baes together. During that journey, Eric finds that he's attracted to Angie and he confesses to her as much. She shares the attraction. They kiss. They have sex. They continue to build.
The show doesn't awkwardly dwell on the affirmation expressed by Eric or received by Angie. It doesn't overanalyze it. It doesn't demonize it or dehumanize it. It also doesn't overtly rally behind it nor glaze over it. It treats it as an everyday life norm in the context of a show depicting Black women who are actively dating, working, and loving in a city where bisexuality shouldn't even be a taboo topic. It's actual truth to power in action, without the fluff, the pretentiousness, or the shame.
We often get to see Black women fluidly express themselves sexually, unapologetically owning the choice of who they go to bed with on TV. But when it comes to our men, there seems to be a very skewed, dare I say problematic double standard.
While the BET seriesTwenties very expertly, albeit briefly, scratches the surface of Black women in relationships with bisexual Black men with its notable foray into the story of a soon-to-be-married woman who finds out her fiancé is also attracted to men, we still have yet to see a robust, fully developed, humanity-validating, modern-day depiction of Black bisexual men.
Still not catching what I'm throwing at you? Go take a look at Insecure season 1 episode 6 where Molly tossed a totally good prospect into the dating-pool garbage bin because he admitted to performing a sexual act with a man once. She also labeled the guy "gay" (and unfairly outed him, if indeed he was) only to find out that he's heterosexual. Her friends also debated whether or not they would be comfortable dating a man who either was bisexual or who’d had bisexual experiences. I love the show, but that's just one of several very significant examples that helps illustrate my point about the way bisexual Black men and the women who date them have been portrayed onscreen.
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Art As Life ... or Nah?
I moved to the Bronx and worked in Manhattan in my 20s—post-crack-era but pre-gentrification—and my network was filled with professional transplants looking to make their Big Apple dreams come true. They wanted to hustle and live the freest, most exciting lives they could outside of the judgmentally conservative, middle-America, salary-capped eyes of suburbia. Several of the people in my close-knit group were bisexual, pansexual, transgender, or enjoyed sexual encounters with the same gender.
Safe to say, I'd truly had a been-there-done-that chip on my shoulder when I heard the news about Harlem premiering until I saw that the show at least attempted to dynamically take the conversation of love, sexuality, identity, and dating further than it had been taken on TV before. I could think back to days when a friend I thought only liked women brought his male boo to the weekly Sunday potluck or when I met the guy who proudly had sex with whoever he wanted to. (He'd boldly share the juicy details during drunken nights at the pizza shop after the club let out. If you asked him to label his choices, he'd smile and say, "You wanna find out? I'm me, baby.")
Black Bisexual Men and the Women They Love
It is truly Harlem's approach to reintroducing a topic like Black male bisexuality that can, at the very least, enhance a quite stale dialogue, offering the beginnings of efforts to give a solid voice to people who are looking for understanding, connection, love, and companionship. The stats even reflect why this is important. According to a 2019 Center for American Progress report, about half of the LGBTQ community is "bi+, meaning they identify as bisexual, queer, pansexual, or some other identifier indicating attraction to more than one gender."
Another recent Gallup report states that about half of millennials, specifically, (people aged 24 to 39 in 2020) who identify as LGBT indicate that they are bisexual. (And we all know that there's much more work to be done in terms of adequate racial representation in studies and reports about sexuality, so these numbers, arguably, could be just the tip of the iceberg in terms of an accurate picture of the U.S. population, but again, I digress).
We've seen Nola beautifully exploring love with both men and women in Netflix's She's Gotta Have It. We've seen Annalise Keating torn between two lovers of different genders on How to Get Away With Murder. There was Tara on True Blood, Maya on Pretty Little Liars, and more recently, Nova on Queen Sugar. These Black women, even if some were not overtly identifying as bisexual, at least enjoyed ample screentime for fleshed-out romances, sex scenes, and loving exchanges that showed both sides of the bisexual coin. Why not our Black men?
They're relegated to being depicted as either down-low, confused, disgraced, loathsome, or cheaters—and maybe all of the above, depending on the show or film.
That one episode in Harlem reminded me why I moved to NYC in the first place: to expand my horizons, get to know people from diverse walks of life, and push past the stifling mental envelope of what I'd been taught growing up in a Southern Baptist small-town enclave of Black excellence tainted by its own dangerous underbelly of ignorance, bias, and delusion.
Harlem should remind us all of the expansiveness of the Black community; to continue to think outside that box of TV stereotypes related to sexual interactions and expressions and to start the conversations that need to be sparked – especially about our Black men. It should empower us to be thinkers and nudge us into an elevated reflection of our own humanity.
Harlem prompts us to at least question what our own notions of Blackness and Black sexuality are—or better yet, why those notions about our Black men should be questioned at all.
Featured image via Amazon Prime
